


Boy In Pieces

by Amarellis



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:53:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarellis/pseuds/Amarellis
Summary: Carl was a normal teenager. He had a father that wasn’t drunk, a mother that wasn’t dead. He didn’t have to worry about sleeping huddled under a garbage can for warmth, or wondered if he was the next sex slave sold to lecherous pedophiles. He was all the way fucked up. Until he met her.*Under Revision.





	Boy In Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Girl In Pieces by Kathleen Glasgow.
> 
> My imagination always gets the best of me.

_ I can never win with this body I live in - “Star” _ __   
  
We’re never in darkness here. Every morning the lights turn on at 6 a.m and off at 12 p.m with a little ping. My arms are wrapped in thick bandages, heavy as clubs.    
  
I came here with nothing except the clothes on my back. The employee who found me smelled of Swisher sweets and stale coffee.     
  
He said,  _ “Good Lord, boy, what’s been done to you?” _ __   
  
My father, who is somewhere sulking and drinking his life away like the coward he is hasn’t come to claim me as of yet. I don’t think he ever will. I remember the rain that night, speckles of tiny diamonds and thick clouds covering the sky.    
  
That scene matters to me because it’s the very last thing I thought I’d see if I had died on the wet, cracked concrete that night stuffed next to a generator.

 

* * *

 

  
Michonne is coming to see us today. She reminds me of all things sweet. Her large, doe eyes holds a sadness that no one can quite place. She’s also very beautiful. With her radiant smile that is lined with pearly whites. Her skin is the color of rich coffee. Deep, and looks like it glows.    
  
Tanner calls her bunny girl, which she has reprimanded him for some time now for the inappropriate name. She sometimes wear her intricately styled locs in two pigtails with two loose ones pulled from the front of the ponytails and left dangling.   
  
_ “I am very much of a grown woman as you can see Tanner,” _ she would say, in a soft lilt. Tanner would respond, _ “As I can very much see.” _  And then she’d let him off with yet another warning.   
  
Tanner is a human torture machine. There razor marks of all shapes and sizes  _ everywhere _ . Ranging from thick to thin, Long to short. He’s an average build, dark hair and stormy grey eyes. I think he has the whole brooding thing down packed. He always looks angry at the world or as if he’s in some type of pain. That pisses me off because aren’t we all?   
  
The door to Group whooshes open. Michonne walks in and takes the seat next to Candace, who wiggles and smiles at her happily like a puppy.    
  
I wonder what she was like high school. She must have been a popular girl. The one that got all of the attention and turned heads everywhere she went. With the gorgeous body, glamorous face, hair, and clothes. But was always focused and never paid any mind to the attention she commanded. Was she shy? Did she hold all of her books to her tits like all of the girls I’ve seen on anime do?   
  
But I know there’s something just underneath the surface of Michonne’s beautiful face. Because why in the  _ fuck _ would she want to be in a room full of crazy ass kids for a living.   
  
She passes out pens and paper and we all tense up. We know what’s going to come next because she knows we hate it as she gives us a knowing look. Because when we have to do an activity that involves writing, we know that Group will be rough.   
  
But, today I get to get my bandages off. All of them.   
  
I focus on the clock next to the door. It’s in between a painting with some flowers and The Last Supper painting. Leonardo Da Vinci painted it. I remember it because I have the same painting in my house.    
  
My old house. Above the fireplace next to pictures of my mom, dad, and me. Pictures of happier times where I’d never have to think of living out on the  _ fucking streets. _ Because sometimes I feel like I can’t  _ breathe _ in this goddamn place; my chest feels like  _ sand _ . I can’t process the feeling of  _ comfort _ because I’ve been outside for  _ so long _ .    
  
A sweet voice breaks me out of my reverie and I pinch my hands where a long jagged scar remains. I feel pain. Pain is good. It means I’m not all the way fucked up yet.    
  
Michonne says, “I’d like you to write down what you say to yourself before you harm.”   
  
Gus groans out loud and runs a hand over his face. He has tattoos everywhere of all kinds. But, everyone in this facility that’s fucked up knows why he has them. It’s a cover up. He has scars inside and out just like the rest of us. He just took more extreme measures to  _ try _ and get rid of them. Gus is some kind of fancy bird with his pain; he has a little bit of everything. bad parents, razor slashes, burns of all kinds, even rope marks around his neck. With a lanky build, long dark locks that hangs luxuriously from a ponytail, and deep green eyes, that sometimes gets a purple tint, most would say he’s a looker.    
  
Gus eyes Michonne and is ready to protest but decided against it when he sees the looks she give him. She sternly asserts, “This is to help improve you. I am here to help you, not to just sit here and magically wait for some kind of miracle to happen.”    
  
Gus snorts, “Alright boss lady.”   
  
Once we all finish writing, she asks, “Who would like to start us off?” Elle’s hand was the first one to shoot up as she leans forward like an eager puppy. I don’t know anyone in this counseling session who is so damn happy to tell everyone why they would want to  _ kill _ themselves. Michonne shakes her head with a slight, encouraging smile, “Well, what do we have Elle?”   
  
Elle slowly raises her paper to read what she has,  _ “Cut it out, everything. Because if I cut out everything right now I only have to worry about the later buildup.”  _ Michonne creases her eyebrows in concern and jots down something in her notepad.    
  
“Thank you Elle for participating. I know this must be hard. But if we want this to work, we have to  _ want _ it to work.” Elle slowly nods and gives a subtle smile, wringing her hands and shuffling her bare feet. Her feet are always bare I’ve noticed. So far, I’ve only seen the remnants of scabbed burn marks on her arms, some one her neck.   
  
“Anyone else?” Michonne lets out an exasperated but patient sigh, “Tanner? Gus?” Michonne’s eyes slowly slides over to me, tilting her head. I quickly lower my own before she decides to do something stupid like call on me. I deflate slightly.   
  
But, before I can shake my head, Gus speaks up. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me which causes great discomfort. It’s so hot in here now, I shift my chair a little away from everyone else. I can feel Tanner’s eyes on me.    
  
Gus looks down at his paper and chokes out,  _ “You’re thinking too much, stop it. Pain is good, I have to get to a point where the pain is overbearing in order to feel anything at all.” _ __   
  
Quick as lightning, Tanner is up and yanking my sheet of paper with unfinished thoughts.    
  
Michonne looks at him evenly, “Tanner.” A warning. He doesn’t heed it though. He continues to unfold the once neatly folded paper and read my most private thoughts. He narrows his eyes, shakes his head, and then smiles slowly.   
  
_ “I don’t wanna do this anymore,” _ Tanner reads. Simple but it gets the point across.    
  
He smirks, “Great minds think alike Grey.”   
  
_ Grey. That’s not my name. Fitting, but no. I can see why they call me that. Everything withers when I’m around.  _ __   
  
“Tanner that is enough,” she sternly reprimands. Hesitation crosses her lovely features as she bites her lip. She shakes her head, then jots another thing down in her notepad. Her hands are pretty, I note. Delicate and slender tipped with a deep reddish-orange color. Everything on her is pretty. She nods her head and determinedly says, “We will come back to this another time as I can see most of you are very uncomfortable with this topic. But, we are making progress,” she smiles brightly at all of us. “I just want you all to know I am very proud.” And it’s so goddamn  _ angelic _ . Everything is bland in here and we don’t know how to feel about her gifting us with something beautiful. I don’t know how  _ I _ feel about  __ sharing it. We haven’t seen anything that rivals the sun and moon put together. Here, they cover up the windows so we won’t get any ideas whatsoever so I make an exception.    
  
Out of the corner of my eye I see Gus eyeing her with his own tiny smile. Everyone in the room is beaming at her too, but it’s him that catches my eye. I can see things just beneath the scrubbed surface that is Gus. Something hidden beneath the intense indigos. A sort of madness. He shifts his eyes away quickly before looking at me and I let my gaze sail away uneasily.    
  
His eyes are very nerve wracking

**Author's Note:**

> Working on Chapter 2 :)


End file.
